Page 4 of Wild About the Mountain Guide
“She is. And she looked about as thrilled to meet me as a cat meeting a dog groomer.”
Reese narrows her eyes at me. “Why are you blushing? Wait… are you into her?”
“What? No,” I say a bit too fast, grabbing a cinnamon roll like it might save me from this conversation. “I only met her this morning. We barely exchanged two words. Just because she’s hot doesn’t mean I’m into her, okay?”
Reese chuckles. “You’resointo her. And you have to introduce us! I’ve read every single one of her books. She’s brilliant at psychological—”
“Whoa there, mama bear.” I hold up a hand. “You’re about to pop any second, and I need to meet my group in twenty minutes. There’s no time.”
“But she’s my favorite author!”
I check my watch and grab my keys. “If we all survive the week, I’ll get you that introduction. Deal?”
“Ifshe survives? You better not let anything happen to my favorite author, Knox,” Reese warns me.
“I won’t let her die. That’s literally my job. Although keeping thriller writers alive in bear country wasn’t exactly covered in my wilderness guide certification.” I drain the rest of my coffee and head for the door. “I better get going. And if that baby decides to make an appearance while I’m gone, try not to panic.”
“I’ll be fine,” Reese says with a warm smile.
“I was talking to Sawyer,” I say with a grin and duck out the door before he can throw something at my head.
Twenty minutes later, I’m standing outside the Hartley Peak Adventures Outpost watching what might be the most chaotic group of humans I’ve ever been asked to keep alive assemble in front of me.
Harmony is there in full spiritual warrior mode. She’s wearing flowing pants, enough crystals to stock a New Age shop, and burning sage while mumbling chants. The middle-aged guy next to her looks like he bought out the entire REI catalog this morning, complete with price tags still attached to his backpack. A young couple is having what appears to be a very serious discussion about granola bar ratios, and an older woman is applying sunscreen like she’s preparing for a journey to the surface of the sun.
Then there’s Peyton, who looks like she’s mentally writing her own obituary.But I have to admit, she took my advice. Her designer jeans are replaced by quick-drying hiking pants. The ankle boots have been swapped for legitimate hiking boots, and she’s wearing a moisture-wicking shirt instead of whatever impractical top she had on earlier. She still looks terrified, but at least she won’t freeze to death in the first hour.
“All right, everyone, gather around,” I call out. “Welcome toSpirit of the Wild. I’m Knox, and for the next week, I’m the only thing standing between you and becoming a cautionary tale.”
Harmony immediately raises her hand like we’re in elementary school. “I just want to express my gratitude for this opportunity to reconnect with Mother Earth’s energy.”
“That’s great, but before you start communing with nature, let’s talk about not dying. I have three rules. Memorize them. They’re the difference between going home with Instagram photos and going home in a body bag.”
The granola bar couple stops mid-argument, Mr. REI Catalog pales slightly, and Peyton looks like she might actually throw up.
“Rule number one: the mountains don’t care about your feelings, your social media presence, or your spiritual awakening. They will absolutely kill you if given the chance, and they’re not picky about how.”
I’m met with silence. Good. Means they get that this is serious, and not some walk in the park. People always think I’m a drill sergeant during the safety talk, but I’m not. I just don’t want to call Search and Rescue—or worse, the morgue—because someone ignored the rules.
“Rule number two: everything I tell you is non-negotiable. If I say stop, you stop. If I say we’re turning back, we turn back. If I say don’t touch something, you keep your hands to yourselves. I’m not your hiking buddy or your spiritual guide. I’m your lifeline.”
I catch Peyton’s eye, and she nods seriously. At least the gorgeous thriller writer understands that real danger isn’t a plot device.
“Rule number three: stay with the group. The wilderness is not the place for solo walks. Last year, we had to call Search and Rescue for someone who thought they could handle fifteen minutes alone on a side trail. Spoiler alert: they couldn’t.”
“What happened to them?” asks the sunscreen lady, whose nametag reads “Christine.”
“They survived, but only because they got lucky and fell into a creek instead of off a cliff.”
“What about food?” Harmony asks.
“I’ll be handing out food supplies in a minute, as mentioned in the welcome email.”
I look around the group, taking stock. They’re nervous, which is good. Nervous people pay attention. Overconfident people end up injured or dead.
“Before we head out, I want to see everyone’s gear. If you’re missing something essential, now’s the time to head to Maple’s Outfitters, not when we’re six miles from the nearest road.”
As the group unpacks their supplies, I’m immediately drawn to Peyton. She has most of what she needs, though I suspect someone at Maple’s Outfitters walked her through the whole setup. Still, she’s prepared, and that counts for something.
